They asked me why I write. I said,

I need to heal.

Spiritually broken since I was a child,

I was always wounded.

They say I’m the born healer but,

I can’t heal myself,

I bottled up the pain until it got away.

They asked me why I write. I said,

I see everything to write about.

My life is another story to tell but,

Closer and listen to my pain.

I don’t talk too much but,

I know much.

I know too much and,

I write too much.

They asked me why I write. I said,

Writing keeps me alive.

The pen and paper help me breathe,

I see metaphors running through my heart,

That’s why I beat my rhythm with love.

I am the Writer,

I am the Heal,

I am the Chosen Son,

Written from my heart where you can’t but,

You can see through me.